


Possession

by AcrobatElle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrobatElle/pseuds/AcrobatElle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always gets like this after fighting whatever new threat has made its way to Storybrooke.</p><p>Written for the following prompt: "Could you write a fic with CS smut where Killian is possessive and a little rough but still sweet (aka kinky but still consensual)?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

Emma doesn’t even have time to lock the front door before she’s turned and pushed back against it with a dull _thud_.

“Killian -- _shit_ \-- wait -- “

Her words fall away as his mouth latches onto her neck and he plasters himself to her from shoulders to thighs, all firm muscle and desperation as he sucks a mark into her throat. His sword clatters to the floor beside him and Emma struggles to reach behind her, to pull the gun from her belt where it digs painfully into the small of her back.

“ _Fuck_. Hold on.” She has to physically shove him away from her long enough to remove the firearm and set it on the side table. The moment it’s left her grasp he’s reaching down, grabbing at her thighs and lifting. She follows easily, helping him take her weight and wrapping her legs around his waist just as her back meets the door again with a satisfying thump, just hard enough to shake her but not quite enough to knock the wind out of her.

He always gets like this after fighting whatever new threat has made its way to Storybrooke, but whenever Emma ends up in direct peril -- just as she was less than an hour ago, a half-second from being decapitated by that… _thing_ , whatever it was, all giant talons and teeth like a fucking T-Rex -- he becomes nearly frantic with it, as though he needs to mark her from head to toe with his lips and teeth to make sure she’s still real and alive and breathing in his arms.

His mouth is brutal against hers and she rolls her hips into his as he presses her harder into the door. She’s happy to take whatever he’ll give her, whatever he needs to settle himself and chase away the fear of losing her. Emma knows the impulse well, to grab as hard as she can and try to crawl inside, like if she can get a good enough grip she’ll never have to let go.

She knows the impulse well. And it usually leads to them fucking each other hard enough to leave bruises.

She can’t stop her pained little cry when he bites down on her lip particularly hard, and he draws back a fraction of an inch, his chest heaving against hers.

“Sorry, love,” he mutters, a slight flicker of shame in his eyes as he studies her face.

“No no no,” she murmurs, capturing his mouth again and grinding her hips into his until he responds in kind, delicious friction between her thighs as he presses hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs. She buries her hands in his hair and grips hard enough to hurt, _exactly_ as hard as she knows he likes it.

“I want it,” she assures him as his mouth drifts back to that same spot on her neck, ensuring that what would have been a light mark will end up as a dark purple welt before he’s done with her. “Just don’t -- _fuck_ \-- “ she swears at a rough roll of his hips, heat pooling between her legs as he ruts against her, “ -- don’t stop.” She grabs at his hair again and yanks to lift his head enough for her to whisper in his ear. “Make me _take_ it.”

He groans and she finds herself slammed against the door with renewed force, one last thrust as he swallows her moan, a slow, dirty swipe of his tongue before he unceremoniously drops her, letting go of her thighs and grabbing at her waist when she scrambles to get her legs underneath her.

“Upstairs,” he growls into her ear. “ _Now_.”

She blinks in surprise -- she’d expected him to take her right there against the door, half-clothed and hasty and hard and _perfect_. He’s done it before and she wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. She balks for a moment, pulling back to get a look at his face, but he’s on her again before she has the chance, pinning her hips with his and biting at her ear.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Swan.”

Emma has never taken kindly to being ordered around. She usually bristles at even the slightest hint of a command, but not when Killian does it like this, needy and rough and his voice an octave lower than usual, his fingers pressing bruises into her hip.

She goes instantly, the heat low in her belly blooming and spreading until she can feel her face flushed with it, his hand insistent at the small of her back while she takes the stairs two at a time. She stumbles halfway up and is steadied by his strong arm around her waist. He pulls her flush against him, her back to his front as he buries his nose in the crook of her neck, his arousal evident against her backside.

He breathes deep, his expanding chest making her arch against him and Emma thinks he might slow down, might not need to mark her all over and pin her down as he fucks her into the mattress.

Then his mouth is hot against her ear. “Turn around and sit.” Another command, another shiver up her spine.

“What? Here?”

“I’ve had you on nearly every surface in the house, Swan. But not here.” He bites at her neck, just enough pressure to make her hiss. “Seems as good a time as any. Now _sit_.”

She’s grateful for the carpet runner, giving her at least a bit of padding as she turns and lowers herself on the stair just above Killian. He watches her intently as she settles back, eyes dark as she rests her elbows on the ledge behind her, waiting for another directive. He doesn’t speak, simply reaches up and uses hand and hook to part her thighs before sliding them up over her jeans until he reaches the waistband. He nearly rips the button as he yanks it open and tugs at the zipper.

His hand pins her hip as he leans down, nipping at the small patch of skin he’s revealed before pulling back to remove her boots with little finesse. Killian usually loves to take his time undressing her, tracing his tongue over every bit of flesh as it’s slowly revealed to him. Now he pulls carelessly at her clothing, her boots clattering down the stairs as he tosses them over his shoulder. Her socks go next, and then he’s pulling at her jeans and she scrambles to assist him, lifting her hips and helping him strip the last of her clothing from the waist down, underwear and denim shed in one frantic motion.

He pauses for a moment once she’s completely bared to him, kneeling between her legs and pushing them wide, the tip of his hook scraping against the sensitive skin as he arranges her to his liking, one foot planted on the stair next to his shoulder and her other leg draped across his back.

Her chest is heaving and his eyes are glazed over as he leans in, his lips closing around the juncture between her pelvis and thigh. Her hips twitch up at the sensation, his mouth hot and wet and so close to where she wants him. He sucks gently and nips a bit harder, the slow roll of his tongue a reminder of how he’s made her come so many times before with that talented mouth.

His dark head lifts and his forehead drops to the smooth patch of skin just below her navel, the heat of his breath making her clench in anticipation as she buries her hand in his hair, her hips rising once again, begging without words. He grins against her skin and noses lower, closer but still maddeningly teasing, his lips scant inches from where they need to be.

His eyes lift to meet hers, pupils blown so wide his gaze appears black. “I love you like this. Wanton and writhing beneath me.”

Her hand tightens in his hair at his words and she’s about to retort when his lips press against her clit, his stubble scratching at the delicate skin before he pulls away and licks a slow stripe up her center. It wrenches a pathetic whine from her lips and her leg twitches against his back as he presses in again.

“Bloody hell, you’re dripping for me,” he groans, lapping at her before closing his mouth over her clit and rolling his tongue in slow waves like the sea. She presses up into his face with the same rhythm and lets her head drop back, her fingers clenching around strands of thick hair as he works her up.

It dimly occurs to her that he didn’t have to do this. She didn’t even _ask_ him to do this. When she told him to take her she expected it fast and rough, him fucking her with her palms planted against the doorway. When he shoved her up the stairs she thought it would end with him pinning her to the mattress and driving into her until she could hardly breathe. She expected anything but this, thought he’d seek his own pleasure in her while she laid back for the ride, but his first instinct was to bury his head beneath her thighs until she’s left a quivering mess under his skilled ministrations.

The thought makes her moan louder, swearing on his name and shaking when two fingers slip inside, curling up in firm strokes and nearly making her come on the spot. She looks down and it’s almost too much, watching him work at her with a reverence and ferocity that she can’t handle, not after a near-death experience and not while he teases at her ragged nerves with an expert touch.

The press of his hook into her hip, the sharp point digging in almost hard enough to draw blood, is what finally allows her to let go, clenching and pulsing around him while she fucks herself on his fingers and shakes under the relentless strokes of his tongue.

The foot she’d left planted in the carpet slips and she nearly melts into the stairs while he holds her up, the skin of her elbow rubbed raw from holding her weight while he made her fly apart at the seams. Her hand relaxes in his hair while he plants a soft kiss to where she’s still sensitive and aching, but that’s all he gives her before leaning up and drawing her legs around his waist once more, levering her off the stairs and into his arms.

She clings to him, arms draping over his shoulders as he carries her up the rest of the way. She expects him to drop her again, to let her walk to their bedroom but he doesn’t let go, grinning against her lips when she moans at the feel of his jeans scraping against her clit.

“What do you want?” she asks when he drops her to the bed and falls with her, leaning over her with his mouth hot at her throat. “Anything, _fuck_ , just tell me.”

“Strip,” he commands, low in her ear.

He pulls back to watch and she doesn’t take her time, knows that _slow_ is off the menu for tonight and that’s just fine with her. Her jacket is tossed aside in moments and she whips her shirt over her head, not even pausing before unlatching her bra and tossing it away.

She’ll never get over the way his eyes widen when he takes in her naked form. His gaze rakes up and down her body before he swallows, his gaze searing into hers when he reaches for the buttons on his vest.

“Touch yourself.” His voice is hoarse but commanding and she can’t think of anything she’d rather do than slide her fingers over her clit while she watches him undress.

She keeps her touch slow and light while she watches him, first unbuttoning his vest and then his shirt with practiced, deliberate movements, and he’s still wearing all three layers when his chest and abdomen are exposed to her, soft hair covering taut muscles in a view that makes her mouth go dry.

He sheds the jacket first, expertly navigating the leather over his hook and there’s a new rush between her legs when she realizes he’s going to leave it on tonight. The vest goes easily but he takes his time with the shirt, carefully unbuttoning the cuff at his wrist before peeling the fabric from his shoulders and throwing the garment aside.

She presses harder with her hand as she looks at him, jeans riding low on his hips and a tantalizing trail of dark hair disappearing low beneath the waistband of his jeans. He never takes his eyes off her as he methodically removes his boots.

He pauses then, tongue darting over his lower lip as he watches her pleasure herself to the utterly _fantastic_ show unfolding before her. “Fingers inside, love.”

 _Fuck_. She presses in with two, middle and ring fingers disappearing in a smooth wet slide while she grinds her palm against her clit.

“That’s it,” he encourages as he pops the button on his jeans, pulling himself free and giving his cock a quick stroke while they watch each other, twisting his thumb over the head as she writhes against her hand. “Just like that.”

It’s _scorching_ , watching his face and his hand and his cock while she pleasures herself, and she doesn’t falter when he stops long enough to remove the rest of his clothing, jeans and underwear tossed aside.

He’s on her in an instant, leaning over her completely bare save for his hook and the leather straps that hold it in place. She makes a small noise of protest when he grabs at her wrist and removes her hand from between her thighs, but she’s rewarded with the sight of him bringing her hand to his lips and slowly taking her fingers into his mouth, eyes on her hers while he licks them clean. She holds her breath as he pulls off her fingers with a soft little _pop_ and bites at the pad of her thumb, closing his eyes briefly as he noses into her palm.

“Anything?” he asks, the cool curve of his hook tracing over a nipple and making her gasp.

“However you want me.”

“Rest assured, Emma, I _always_ want you.” He pulls on her wrist and forces her to sit completely upright, a harsh, jerky motion that shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is. His mouth replaces his hook at her breast, alternating between using the flats of his teeth and soothing the ache he creates with slow strokes of his tongue. “Bloody gorgeous,” he murmurs, switching his attentions to the other side for a hot moment before returning to her mouth.

Emma’s not so much participating as she is hanging on while he practically manhandles her. She’s almost embarrassed at how much she loves it, the way he tugs at her lips with his teeth while broad, sure fingers tease at the apex of her thighs. She lets him arrange her on her hands and knees, nothing gentle in the way he steers her body around so her head is facing the foot of the bed, her legs spread wide while she leans forward on her elbows.

“Not like that.” His voice is rough in her ear as he settles behind her, the tip of his hook playing at her hip while his hand makes its way into her hair. “Up.” He tugs lightly at the strands and guides her up so she’s supporting herself on her hands, and she suddenly realizes why he directed her to face this side of the bed.

She’s facing the dresser on the opposite wall, but more importantly, she’s eye-level with the large mirror that rests above it. The position gives her a perfect view of her reflection with Killian on his knees behind her. It’s one thing to have him toss her around like a ragdoll but it’s another to actually _see_ it, to watch the muscles in his arm flex while he pulls at her hair and bends down to mouth at her shoulder, scraping his jaw up her neck until he’s forcing her to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“Watch,” he commands and she groans at the directive, at the darkness in his eyes while he takes in her reflection. Her neck is pulled taut and her breasts heave as she breathes shallow and fast, the marks he’s sucked into her skin on full display for them both to see. He drops his hand long enough to give himself a quick stroke before guiding himself to her, the tip of him teasing where she’s slick and wanting, sliding up and down her entrance with tantalizing little passes over her clit.

“Don’t look away,” are his last words before he presses inside, his face going slack with pure bliss before he drops his head between her shoulder blades.

She wobbles on her arms but obeys, clenching around him as he bottoms out on a deep-seated groan. She couldn’t look away if she wanted to, not when she knows what’s coming. She’s dying to see it, to watch him straighten up and set a brutal pace, to watch the muscles in his abdomen work and sweat gather on his chest, to watch how his features change when he thrusts into her from behind. To watch him make her _take_ it, just as she asked when he’d pressed her against the door, her request seeming a million miles away.

Without even realizing it, he gives it all to her.

She misses the scratch of his chest hair against her back when he straightens himself up but it’s a welcome trade when his hand finds her ass and his hook rests at her hip as he pulls back, long and slow and almost all the way out before he slams back in. She can scarcely hold herself upright as he settles into a pace that’s steady but rough, the harsh slap of skin against skin echoing through the bedroom and the force of his thrusts inching her up the bed.

Killian watches her the whole time, eyes locked with hers in the mirror while she struggles to keep herself upright, hands scrabbling against the covers as he speeds up, the slide between them slick and easy and slowly driving her mad. Emma revels in the stretch and the strength of him, his fingers tight at her hip as she rocks back to meet the full force of his thrusts. She tries to adjust, tries to change the angle just enough to give her exactly what she needs to come again, and her eyes fall closed when she finally finds it.

Killian chooses that exact moment to stop and she groans in frustration until his hand is at her hair again, his hooked arm snaking around her waist and roughly pulling her upright. He’s settled back on his knees and pulls her against his chest until she’s sitting in his lap, her knees splayed on either side of him and she can hardly _breathe_ like this, he feels so large at this angle and she’s practically impaled on him and --

He laughs as she squirms against him, his hand tightening against her belly. “I told you to watch.”

“I -- _fuck_ \-- “

“That’s the idea, darling. For you to watch while I fuck you. Now be a good girl and _take_ it.” His teeth tug at her ear and she shivers. “Just like you wanted.”

She wants to slap the smugness out of his voice, to kiss him, to ride him into oblivion because he’s right, it’s just what he needs right now and _exactly_ what she wants. She opens her eyes and the sight that greets her in the mirror steals the last of the air from her lungs. She’s spread out over his lap, legs splayed wide and she can _see_ him disappear inside as he rocks up into her, the hard length of him sliding in and out again and again as her thighs shake around him with the effort of holding herself up.

It’s worth it, though, to feel his groans muffled against her back, his stubble scratching at her skin as his hooked arm wraps possessively around her front and his fingers slide low, dancing just above where they’re joined. She arches against his touch and the slight change in angle leaves them both groaning.

“Just like that, love,” he pants, his face buried between her shoulder blades as he speeds the stroking of his fingers. “Come for me.”

The gravel in his voice is almost enough to make it happen but it’s his hand and cock that do the job, her mouth going slack as he stills inside her but works her through it with his fingers, drawing it out as she shakes and pulses around him. She’s still on that high when he rears up and pushes her forward, still buried deep inside as she’s shoved down to the mattress, her face buried in her arms as he lifts her hips and presses deeper still and makes her take it.

It’s delicious like this, the ruthless pace he sets against her as she sinks down into the covers, boneless and buzzing and fucked-out. Her helpless moans mingle with his as his thrusts grow erratic, and she grins into her forearms when he finally stutters and breaks above her, collapsing against her back in a haze of sweat and bare skin.

He lifts up once their hearts have slowed, and she hears the telltale sound of leather buckles being loosened as he removes his hook and lets it drop to the floor, settling on his side next to her and pulling her back against him. His naked wrist rests against her hip and his nose rests against the mark he sucked into her throat, breathing deep and sighing against her skin.

They’ve been through this before too, his need to hold her after claiming her so thoroughly, and she lets him have a moment before they concern themselves with the nuisance of cleaning up and crawling under the covers. Her hand covers his wrist, her thumb gently sliding over the scarred skin before she draws his arm around her middle.

“You okay?” she whispers as he pulls her in tighter.

There’s a pause before he answers. “I’ll be all right.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

They both know she can’t be certain of that. There’s always a new monster making its way to Storybrooke, a new villain to contend with. And as lucky as they’ve been, as hard as they’ve fought to stay together they can’t be prepared for everything, can’t avoid every blow or anticipate every attack. It’s why they hold each other so tightly, why they mark each other’s skin with such ferocity, why they’re so reluctant to let go.

“I know, love.” His lips are soft against the angry red welt he’s left her with, a silent apology.

She smiles, the sweetness of his touch after all they’ve just done so very welcome and so very _Killian_. “I’m yours, you know.”

“Aye,” he murmurs, and she can feel his mouth spreading into a grin against her shoulder. “And I yours.”

* * *

 

She only heals the mark on her neck before heading into work the next day. The rest remain untouched under her clothes, a secret, welcome brand against her skin.

  



End file.
